Twin disasters hit Southern California
THOUSAND OAKS – A vigil Thursday night for the victims of the mass shooting in Thousand Oaks was so packed that ushers barred people from entering the auditorium.
Those left outside pressed their faces against the glass doors, trying to watch the service on the TV in the overflow room. As the winds picked up, they zipped up their jackets and hugged their arms to their chests, but they didn’t leave – a show of solidarity with a city touched by tragedy.
Nearby, a group of mourners linked hands and sang “Amazing Grace” under oak trees strung with lights. Inside the auditorium, people gripped battery-powered candles and wiped away tears as they talked about the 12 people who had been killed the night before at Borderline Bar and Grill.
It was the kind of quiet moment we have come to expect after something horrible happens, a respite after the worst is over. But in Thousand Oaks, another disaster loomed.
During the vigil, many people’s phones’ pinged with emergency alerts about a fast-moving fire, fueled by the same winds that had whipped their faces as they headed from their cars to the vigil. It took effort to walk upright in those winds, and they were howling.
Over the next several hours, the fires would become unstoppable, destroying many homes and forcing the evacuation of hundreds more, including my family’s.
First, the city where I grew up was catapulted onto the national news by a gunman’s rampage – joining the list of places nationwide jolted by mass violence. And then, the fires.
Twin disasters in little over 24 hours.
Kyle Jorrey, editor of the local newspaper the Thousand Oaks Acorn, deployed his small staff repeatedly into the wee hours of the morning this week – local elections Tuesday night, the shooting Wednesday night and the fires Thursday night. “There’s never been anything like this,” he said.
When reporters descended on Thousand Oaks the morning after the shooting, I was among them, camping out in a coffee shop. Two women next to me were talking about the shooting in disbelief.
Fiorella Quiroz, 21, and Jessica Romero, 22, both got word minutes after it happened that night – one was alerted by ambulances blaring past her home – and they hadn’t slept much since. Neither knew anyone who died, but had heard that friends of friends had been lost. A classmate’s cousin. A best friend’s brother’s friend.
Usually they have to explain to people where Thousand Oaks is. But on Thursday, celebrities were talking about the massacre. The survivors of the Parkland shooting in Florida sent condolences to Thousand Oaks. President Donald Trump tweeted about the shooting.
“I guess everyone knows what Thousand Oaks is now,” Romero said.
For the uninitiated, Thousand Oaks is off the 101 Freeway between Agoura Hills and Camarillo. It’s a community of 120,000 people that feels small; if you don’t know someone personally, your kids probably went to school together, or you have friends in common. The secret passcode for acceptance here is calling the city T.O. – only outsiders say the full name.